Life’s A Beach

(Note: I work as a lifeguard at a beach.)

Beachgoer: “Excuse me!”

Me: “Hello, ma’am. How can I help you?”

Beachgoer: “I just got cut by a rock in the beach.”

Me: “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Would you like to make a trip to first aid?”

Beachgoer: “No, I would like to complain.”

Me: “About what?”

Beachgoer: “You work at the beach, right? You should make sure the sea is safe enough to swim in!”

Me: “I’m sorry, but I don’t actually–”

Beachgoer: “Nonsense! You should make sure there are no rocks! I want to talk to your manager!”

(I call up my supervisor.)

Supervisor: “Yes, what seems to be the problem?”

Beachgoer: “I want to complain about your staff.”

Supervisor: “Yes, what did they do?”

Beachgoer: “She told me she can’t clean the sea of rocks. What if I get another injury?”

Supervisor: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but it’s not her fault that there are rocks in the sea. If you want, we can treat your cut in first aid?”

Beachgoer: “What kind of idiots are you? I want this beach cleaned! I am going to get the government on you! And I don’t want any stupid first aid! I am going to get you both arrested for my injury!”

(She stormed off, but not before showing both of us a tiny scratch on her foot. The government never called.)

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